Turning his face to the side and staring at my hair, he asks, “So what shade is it? It’s different than what it was back in school.” It is. Three years ago, I had a gentler shade of blue. This one is louder, pops out more. Suits me more, too. “Bad Boy Blue.” His fingers stop sifting and he glances at me. “No shit.” I shake my head. “No.” I changed colors just after he went away. I went to the store and as soon as I saw the label, I bought it. “Fuck me,” he mutters to himself. “Bad boy blue, huh? You’re obsessed with me.”
